The Horse and His Girl
by Bride of Thranduil
Summary: A new cast of demigods fight new monsters to save Camp Half-Blood and Western Civilization.


**The Horse and His Girl**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Percy Jackson universe. It all belongs to Rick Riordan. The title is borrowed from C.S. Lewis.**

 **A/N: This is my first Percy Jackson fic. Let me know what you think!**

 **Summary: A new cast of demigods fights new monsters to keep Camp Half-Blood and Western Civilization safe.**

 **Chapter 1: We meet our Heroes**

Look, I never planned on being a substitute teacher. Ever.

If you're thinking about starting a new career and being one, my advice is to keep your day job. People have all kinds of weird ideas about subbing and shaping young minds or making a difference or whatever.

The reality of subbing is completely different. It's terrifying. It's like being the new kid at school every day except now you work there so people assume you know what you're doing. If you're retired and you're looking for a way to earn to some extra cash and you think filling for teachers a few days a week sounds awesome, then I dare you to try it out for a few days. You'll change your mind. To those other subs out there who go in and wage the war against the students of all ages who totally know that you don't have any real authority, I salute you. For those of you who are still thinking that substitute teaching might be the road for you, read on. Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Meredith Young. I'm twenty-eight years old. I make my living as a substitute teacher in the Bay Area. For those of you not from California, that's the area around San Francisco. I hate my job, but I do it because it's the best way to find unsuspecting half-bloods and get them somewhere safe before a monster figures out who they are. Does it sound like I have a hard job? Yeah, you could say that.

I could start my story anywhere in any of the dozens of schools where I've worked, but things started to go bad on a Monday last October, when I was supervising a field trip to the Oakland Humane Society. I know it sounds like a weird idea, taking a bunch of middle schoolers to an animal shelter, but the science teachers wanted to show the kids what happens when people don't take care of their pets, and I don't think that's a bad idea in principal. As a rule, I hate seventh-graders. I think we should take them and lock them in a closet until they become eighth-graders. It's just a horrible time between childhood and the teen years when kids are generally shitty to each other. Oh, and substitute teachers. They're shitty to us, too.

I had been on high alert since I walked in that morning because I saw someone I recognized. That's not that unusual. I sub at some schools more than others and I actually do know some of the teachers. But this guy wasn't a teacher, at least not in the traditional sense.

Chiron has been training heroes at Camp Half Blood for as long as I can remember. He trained me when I was in my teens. He's actually a centaur, but when he leaves camp to search for heroes in the mortal world, he folds his equine half into a magical motorized wheelchair so he doesn't stand out. I knew when I saw him rolling down the halls of Amley Middle School that shit was about to go down. He only leaves camp if he's looking out for someone special, like a particularly powerful half-blood who needs watching over.

We made eye contact and he nodded in my direction. In a way, I was glad he was here. There's no one I'd rather have in my corner in a fight, but I was also scared because I knew something big must be coming. It was kind of like having your best friend show up because they knew you were going to get pounded by a bully after school. You were happy to see them, but until then you'd been secretly hoping that the bully would forget the whole thing.

I prayed silently to the same Greek gods I always prayed to, but I was confident no one was listening. It seemed like they never were. I was still hoping the trip would be okay, that maybe things wouldn't get crazy until we got back to the school. Obviously, that's not what happened. I've rescued a lot of half-bloods on field trips. It's one of the reasons I officially hate them now. Field trips, not half-bloods. They didn't ask to be born and that's a discussion point for another time. The point is, demigods who don't know they're demigods are especially vulnerable in an unfamiliar environment, just like most kids. If some creepy guy comes up to you on the playground, you run and tell a teacher. If someone comes up to you on the street and asks for directions, you might stop and try to help them. Then before you know it, you'd be separated from your group, and never heard from again.

Anyway, I was in hypervigilant mode the whole bus ride to the museum. All the way there I kept looking at this skinny blonde girl who was shooting spit wads at the disabled kid sitting in front of her. I was grossed out because, duh, spit wads, but also kind of impressed. Spit wads take preparation. She had to bring a notebook with paper and straw to shoot them. I started to get up to say something to her, but Chiron, who was going by Mr. Brunner at Amley Middle School, put his hand on my arm and I sat back down. I understood implicitly that we were waiting for something, but I was also distracted by his touch. My emotions were a mess where Chiron was concerned. We had a long and complicated history going back to my teen years. I thought I had put all of it behind me, but now that I was sitting next to him, I wasn't so sure.

I stared hard at the kid sitting in front of the skinny blonde girl. He kept touching each of his fingers to his thumb in order and mumbling to himself. Demigods are prone to ADHD and dyslexia, but this kid looked more like he had some form of OCD or Asperger's syndrome. It's probably possible for demigods to have those things, too, but I was sure he wasn't the one we were here for. The kid sitting next to him was wearing a red sweater and he kept turning around the scowling at the skinny blonde girl. He looked like was ready to pummel her, but so far nothing supernatural had happened.

Looking back, I kind of wish I'd gone up to her and punched her in the face. The kid in front of her may not have noticed what she was doing, but I did, and someone should have said to that girl, I see you. I see what you're doing, and it's not cool.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour. He rode up front in his wheelchair and I had a good opportunity to stare at him from behind without seeming creepy. Suddenly I felt like was sixteen and at camp again, like no time had passed at all. His scraggly beard didn't do much to show off his features, but I knew he was handsome underneath. Even in the chair, his broad-shouldered frame gave the appearance of youth and strength, despite that Chiron is ancient. I felt a blush creeping into my cheeks. These were not the thoughts I should be having. I needed to focus on the task at hand.

Chiron paused at a display of Native American pottery and I took the opportunity to do a head count. So far, everyone was accounted for. A few of the kids were nudging each other and snickering, but I figured that was standard middle school field trip behavior. They were just happy to be out of jail. I noticed that one of the other teachers, Mrs. Rickenbacker, seemed to paying particularly close attention to the boy wearing a red sweater. I tried to figure out if there was a reason she was looking at him, but he didn't seem to be doing anything. He wasn't trying to light the place on fire or anything. I made eye-contact with Chiron and flicked my eyes in the boy's direction. He briefly nodded and continued talking about the pottery.

Chiron led the kids on to the next exhibit and I stayed behind to bring up the rear. That was when I saw Mrs. Rickenbacker lead the kid in the red sweater around a corner behind another exhibit. Warning bells sounded in my head. Monsters tried to do their killing of half-bloods away from prying eyes. Most mortals couldn't see their true form through the mist, but that could see what was happening and interpret it in a way that fit into their perception of reality. In other words, a mortal might see a monster killing a demigod with a dagger as a teacher stabbing a student with a pen knife and they might call for help.

I stole up behind the display as quietly as I could and saw Mrs. Rickenbacker place her hand on the red sweater kid's shoulder and point something out in the diorama. I also saw a celestial bronze blade materialize out of thin air in her other hand behind her back and draw it back for the kill. I didn't have time to think. I whipped out my own blade and shoved it in right where Mrs. Rickenbacker's kidneys would have been if she'd been a human. There was a blood curdling scream and then she dissolved into a gold shimmery dust. The red sweater kid looked at me like he couldn't believe what he had just seen, but I knew we didn't have long.

"Come with me if you want to live," I told him and steered him out the nearest exit onto the streets of Oakland. Maybe it wasn't the safest place for a seventh grader, but I figured there were worse things inside than out here. Chiron met us at the curb and waived like he was flagging down an Uber.

"I'm not sure I should be leaving the group," the red sweater kid protested, but Chiron and I hustled him into the middle of the back seat and told the three old lady drivers to step on it. Just being in the car with them gave me the heeby jeebies. Chiron had to be seriously worried about this kid if this was who he called to pick us up. I had expected the driver to be Argus, the camp's head of security, but I guess meeting a guy covered in eyes would be a good way to scare someone off.

"What's your name?" I asked the kid.

"Lorne," he said looking dejected, "You guys aren't really teachers, are you?"

Before I could answer, Chiron broke in, "We're here to take you to a safe place where you can prepare for your future."

"Are you talking about Camp Half-Blood?"

I looked at the boy, startled, "You know about Camp?"

He nodded and wouldn't make eye contact with me, "My dad told me about it when I was a little kid. I thought he was just making up a fun story, but then strange things started happening. I've been kicked out of a lot of schools after unexplained accidents. Afterwards, people don't seem to remember things happening the way I remember them. Sometimes they don't even remember the people who were there or weren't. This year, Mrs. Rickenbacker replaced our other math teacher halfway through the year, but nobody else seemed to notice."

I knew exactly how this kid was feeling. He had to have been lonely going through this by himself. "Did your dad tell you anything else about what to expect at Camp Half-Blood or about why you need to go there?"

The boy laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. "You've gotta understand," he said, "my dad's a real nut job. I'm not trying to be funny or anything. He sees things that aren't real all the time. When I was little, he used to be the best story teller. He talked about monsters like they were real, but the older I got, especially the last few years, he started seeing them everywhere. A few months ago he had to be placed in a residential psychiatric facility after he beat-up a pizza delivery guy. I've been staying with my aunt since then, but there's not really room for me in her apartment." He hung his head and didn't say anything else.

"What's your name, kid?" I asked after a long silence.

"Christian Henderson."

"I've been where you are, Christian, and I promise that it gets better from here." I hoped I was telling him the truth.


End file.
